Haunted Tears of Crystal
by FreakyWannabes
Summary: The sequel to The Island of Narid. Two months have passed since the military, Rose, Alphonse, and Winry returned from the island tragedy. But something isn't right in Central either the city is being terrorized by nightly murders. Does it tie to Narid?
1. The Injury Unable to Heal

**Haunted Tears of Crystal**

**Chapter One: The Injury Unable to Heal**

Well here it is, folks, the sequel to "The Island of Narid". ( Finally . . .) This chapter is kind of slow, so I apologize for that—but it's the beginning chapter so I decided not to have TOO much involvement right away.

OOoohs, by the way, I do NOT OWN FMA.

* * *

"Hey, Rose, take a look at this!" Winry breathed through her excited smile. The girl bounced on her heels, eyeing a shopkeeper's handmade automail arm. With Edward and Alphonse busy at the military base in Central, the two girls had nothing else to do but explore the shops nearby.

Rose joined Winry at the counter. Gazing at the item of Winry's adoration, Rose only saw a metal arm alike to Ed's. She failed to comprehend the wonder. "The arm?"

Winry managed to tear her eyes away from the machine for a small moment to shock Rose with an amazed look. "Of course! Have you looked at its design?! It's so lean, but by the way it's put together—it certainly would be hard to bust! And it's so _shiny,_ what kind of polish did they use?"

"You like? It's my most prized creation." The young shopkeeper boasted, leaning against the counter. "Of course, that only means it'll be more expensive."

"Oh, I wouldn't buy it! I'm an automail mechanic myself; I'm just admiring your work."

"Admire all you want, Blondie. But if its tips you want though, that'll cost you." He cocked his head flirtatiously.

"Oh?"

"How 'bout you, too?" He nodded in Rose's direction, "You want to share in on some secrets?"

Rose backed away, shaking her head sternly. The boy's manner insulted her. She left the store, knowing Winry would be too preoccupied with the automail to care about her leave. She wouldn't wander far—she and Winry were too good of friends for her to abandon Winry; she would just take a look at some little things that caught her own interest for a while.

The day was later in its hours—in truth, there wasn't much time till the sun was near its setting. Outside the many stores, lights had already begun to kindle, drawing attention. With the low sun glaring sharply in her eyes, Rose took shade in a nearby shop.

The store was small, but very welcoming, with a middle-aged woman bearing a kind smile seated in the back, reading a novel behind the counter. The multitudinous shelves that lined each wall of the inside were stuffed with ornamental potteries and glasses. Some were painted, some bejeweled. Rose wandered to a wall ornamented with colored glass designs—their sides were faceted so the light caught on them, danced on their surfaces.

"Anything I can help you with?" The woman inquired politely.

"No thanks, ma'am, I'm only looking." She glanced back at the glassware, "These are extraordinary, did you make them yourself?"

"No, they're my daughter's work. She's a gifted alchemist and spends her time perfecting her artistic talent and pondering up new designs. If you stay a few moments longer here she'll be showing people how she does it."

"I'll do it now, Mother." The door next to the seller's counter opened, revealing a girl, surprisingly young, walk out with a handful of empty glass bottles. She set them on the ground then pushed aside her long red bangs. Her green eyes flickered to Rose for a moment before she pulled from her pocket a long piece of chalk. "Just a moment longer."

The girl etched a large circle upon the smooth stone of the shop. The pattern of it wasn't familiar to Rose—it was nothing like Alphonse's transmutation circles, so she found herself intrigued. She bent closer.

"Here we go," the redhead mumbled, placing the pieces of broken glass and bottles inside the web of chalk lines. "You ready?"

At Rose's nod, the young alchemist grinned and placed her fingertips upon the transmutation circle.

At once, Rose felt a sudden pain in her right arm—felt it pulse and quiver. The hurt was so sudden and extreme that Rose doubled over and lurched back. She hit the shelves behind and a few creations jumped off their seat, crashing to the hard floor. They shattered.

"Hey now, what'd you do that for?!" The red-haired child yelled crossly, leaving her art half-finished. "Hey—" She stopped speaking abruptly when she saw the curled-up form of Rose. "It's not that scary . . . "

Rose squirmed, crying out, for the pain refused to subside. Through a squint she saw the cloth covering her arm was seared away. Her scarred blue arm was visible. Shrieking, Rose leapt to her feet and scrambled out the door of the shop, avoiding the keepers' yells and accidentally knocking loose a few more works in her haste.

Clutching her arm, Rose sped through the streets; her violet eyes were wide, seeking for the automail shop. Upon finding it she ran over and banged on the large window, crying out her friend's name. Winry was still inside, leaning over the counter.

The blonde girl whirled around, seeing the troubled expression on Rose's face. She quickly said a farewell to the shop youth and exited.  
"What's wrong?"

Rose swiftly loosed hold on her wrist, showing Winry the blue-grey torn flesh.

"Let's get you out of here." Winry tore off her bandana and wrapped it around Rose's wrist.

* * *

"How did it happen this time?" Maria Ross gently asked, tenderly tapping Rose's raw arm.

"I was in an art shop," Rose murmured, slightly wincing, "and a young girl was doing alchemy."

"Just like that? The infection started up again?"

"Yes."

Maria leaned back in her chair, releasing her light hold on Rose. Since the girl came back from the island, her arm was seared and the skin was dyed a peculiar shade of blue. Both she and Edward refused to tell why, though Mustang had angrily prodded them. The hurt caused Rose no pain normally, but at certain times her skin flared up, peeling as if burning. Then it was to be covered and bandaged with cool aloe salve till the pain subsided.

This had happened only thrice since they returned. There was still no reason of why or how her arm reacted. All three instances _did _have their share of similarities, however. The first time her arm re-opened, she had been walking outside in a storm. A harmless string of lightning far away flashed in the sky. That exact moment, Rose began screaming and holding her arm, wailing. The second time it had been alchemy. Alphonse was fixing a broken trinket of Winry's when Rose's injury reacted. It seemed electricity sparked off her infection; though the cause for that was beyond anyone's current comprehension.

What Rose _did_ know, was how she got that horrible mark. It was where the cerulean liquid from Bloch touched her, ate away her flesh and replacing it with the pasty skin she wore now. Only Edward shared that secret.

"You'll have to tell me what happened for us to help, Rose." Maria met the girl's eyes.

Rose shook her head, "I cannot."

"If this is because Ed told you not to—"

"Are you okay, Rose?" The door to the small office room of Maria's opened to reveal Alphonse.

"Yeah," Rose said, relieved for a distraction, "it only stings now."

"Where's Ed?" Winry questioned, seated by Rose's side.

"He's coming."

Rose stood up suddenly. "This isn't a big deal—I'm fine. Please don't worry about me."

"Are you scared of the tests?"

Rose shuddered. Mustang had said the military possessed a sharp interest in running her through different tests to see how her injury reacted. There was no doubt that they would closely be watching her and her curse.

"I don't want tests." She was aware how painfully childish she sounded."

"Once the military gets a case like this, they won't let it go easily. We work jointly with the medical service, you know. They'll want to help and find a cure in case someone else happens to—"

"It _won't_ happen to anyone else."

"There's always automail." Winry softly suggested, knowing well Rose's answer.

"No. I'll live with it."

"Rose, the tests will be harmless, I assure you. If your situation gets worse, there won't be a choice—the military will take you."

The door clicked open again; the newcomer's presence was expected.

"Hello, Edward," Maria greeted solemnly.

"What caused it this time?" He seemed to be too deep in thought to be polite.

Rose sighed, betraying mild exasperation. "Only alchemy. I'm fine—it'll pass like all the other times before. Everyone can stop fussing. Please."

Edward walked over to her, seemingly ignoring her words. He reached out and brushed his fingertips by her wrist. Rose flinched at the touch.

"It's still hot," he muttered, "you'll have to put some salve on it before anything." His face remained emotionless as he turned around, putting one hand to his chin.

"I should've known you'd run off to have a party." The languid voice of Mustang remarked as he stood in the open doorway.

Ed spoke without turning to him, "I should've known you'd follow me."

"I wasn't done speaking with you, Fullmetal."

"You're never done."

Roy turned, catching sight of Rose. She was softly wrapping a bandage around her charred wrist. "Rose, we'll have a look at you tomorrow. That's what's been decided."

Both Edward and Rose turned to him, alarmed.

"No—it's fine! It's just—on the island, when I was taken . . ." The whole room fell silent. Ed shot her a subtle warning glance. "When I was taken, they were t . . . running experiments on me as well. They had some sort of poison—used alchemy to run it through my hand—" She knew she was rushing; she hoped that it wasn't as noticeable as she perceived it was.

"They could do alchemy?"

"Y-yes."

"Well I guess that helps the situation. You'll still come with me in the morning, Rose, we now have an idea of what to look for. And we don't want this _poison_ to spread."

Rose was silent for a moment. Her posture slumped. "Yes."

"Fullmetal." Mustang beckoned to the boy with a wave. Ed followed him out the door after fixing Rose with a bemused stare.

* * *

Lying silently in the darkness of the spare room provided for her, Rose closed her eyes. Her bluff to Mustang may have been a greater folly than would be admitting the truth. But at least none of the military now would find the problem with her, for Ed had told her that no one could know what occurred in Bloch. The details, anyway. Alphonse didn't even know, and Rose knew how close the two brothers were.

Rolling to her side, Rose buried her thoughts in sleep.

* * *

_'Are you sure?'_

_'Yes.'_

_'What if we can't? What will happen?' The shadowy silhouette of a woman's figure clutched at the other._

_'I don't know. But I'm going to try.'_

_'Let me help you, I can—'_

_'No. I'm going to bring him back myself. Our son . . .'_

_For a moment a great void of white covered Rose's vision. Then her sight returned and she was standing in the corner of some small room. Beneath her feet was drawn a tremendous circle—the largest and most ornate her eyes had ever beheld. A man's shadow stood in the middle, cradling a large heap of blankets. By its shape Rose understood it was a person's corpse, maybe in early youth. Rose swayed, tried to back away but her feet rooted to the ground._

_'My son . . . I'll have you back.'_

_The man laid the body in the middle, then walked to the outskirts of the transmutation circle. He took a large breath before laying out his ands._

_The next Rose saw was a swirl of color—gold, black, purple. Her head swam as her body spun wildly. Something grabbed her ankle, her face, her breast. Screaming, she flailed, as mist kissed her eyelids and plagued her sight in ghastly horror. She writhed in its grasp. Far off she heard a grown man's heart-felt and mournful cries; he was weeping._

_Whatever held Rose turned her body over and held her eyes open. Her right arm and neck throbbed painfully. Her eyes beheld two enormous doors, partly open. On its sides statues of humans reached, groped for a small babe above them. From the gate thousands of tendrils lashed out as violet eyes, alike to her own, paralyzed her with their stare._

_The small forms from the gate stretched, floundered for something beyond Rose's sight. The man's cry tore through her heart, suddenly. Tears washed over her cheeks bitterly. Subitaneously, Rose felt all of that man's grief, all of his sorrows and laments. Her chest compressed and her body caved in upon itself as she echoed the man's mournful weeping._

_This is what it meant . . . _

_. . . What it truly meant . . . _

_. . . To suffer._

* * *

Whoos and hoos. Sorry it took so long, peoples—by chastity! I hadn't meant to keep you all waiting like this. ;

---Neddie. (and Yinn)


	2. Gone Wrong

**Haunted Tears of Crystal**

**Chapter Two: Gone Wrong**

Wows, guys, what have I done? I am SOOOO ashamed to have let the story stall pitifully like this but IT'S BACK! What excuses have I? Erm? Too much homework? True, but not true. I always find time. Basically I've been depressed. I don't get enough sun in winter—it does that to me. But now spring's come and I was just in Florida for vacation and got lots of sun. Guess what?! I'm happier! I can write! And summers just around the corner, so you can bet I'll be more active then! Whoos! -throws flowers in air-

* * *

Rose awoke to a harsh, cold slap on her cheek. When her vision stopped swimming she could see Ed's face looming above her, eyebrows creased; his lips halfway parted. He might have been speaking. There was an unnerving emotion betrayed on his usually closed face. In the next moment, relief washed hotly over his ash-pale flesh and he leaned back.

Slowly, Rose sat up. She could feel her chest pumping rapidly and the dampness of her scalp, drenched in chilled sweat. Rose turned to Ed who sat in the dark, eyes darting from her to the door.

"You were screaming," he murmured at last, "for minutes and more."

The hard, bare remembrance of her dream flooded through her core and she shuddered, rubbing her bare arms. Eyes averted, she shamely wondered why she still feared; it was only a night haunting, and could harm her no more.

"Nightmare . . ."

She felt Edward move slightly closer. "Of Bloch?"

Rose began to shake her head, when she was overcome with the desire to keep silent her dream, though for unknown purpose. She said nothing.

Ed sucked in a breath through his teeth, "I don't want them to take you in the morning."

Rose raised her eyes to look at him, but his gaze was fixed upon the partly opened door of her room.

"I hope no one else heard you."

"These tests . . . you know about the military, what will I be . . . put through?" Apprehension gripped her tyrannically in its icy hand.

"That's what bothers me." He fiddled with his automail uncomfortably, "I have no idea what could happen. But there's no way I'm letting you go with them alone." He started, and hastily added, "I can't let them find out what really happened."

"Why is it so important to keep quiet?"

Ed rounded on her, eyes glittering foreignly in the lamplight on her dresser. "Don't you remember what those people were doing? That the homunculi were there, held you—" He checked his loud tone, "Imagine the military with that in their grasp. First they'd question us to no end and then send us back there—back there to show them where it was. Then we'll have to find the remains of that cursed city and the—that—that stone." His hands were constantly fidgeting. "Then some crazed man might attempt the same."

"So you're afraid . . .?"

He snorted as if to contradict, but he said nothing. Briskly he stood and turned away from her. Without looking back he exited her room, murmuring as he left:

"I don't think anyone heard . . ."

With her breath catching, Rose leapt from under her coverlet before she knew what she was doing, and stumbled down the hall to clasp Ed's arm. He swung around, alarmed.

"Please . . . don't leave me. Not yet." She pleaded.

Edward's face smarted, flushing. Quickly he scanned the hallways for any soul, but the passage was empty. Finding himself succumbing to her pleading fingers on his arm and the rashness of her breath as it hissed between her teeth, Edward followed her back to her room.

Rose let go of him and sat at the edge of her bed, gaze cast downward. Slowly he sat beside her.

"Sorry—" Rose blurted. "_I'm_ scared."

Ed, widely unsure of how to approach the situation, tried to avoid her childish, fearful eyes. She was so delicate, frail . . . the military would be too rough with her; she'd break. Ed reached his hand out to her in consolation, before swiftly jerking it back to his side. She didn't seem to notice, thankfully.

Rose turned wholly to him, overcome with sympathy as she unwillingly recalled what emotions she had felt in her nightmare. She was sure it was the taboo "human transmutation" that Ed and Al had suffered through when only boys. She could imagine his terror, his despair, and felt it echo within her own breast.

"I . . . am sorry. For all that you've been through."

Edward was caught off-guard by her words. "W-What? What makes you think that?"

"Your mother, your brother, I—"

She snapped her words off when the youth beside her rose, clenching his fists. Obviously she said something he had no desire to be reminded of. Immediately she regretted opening her mouth, though she could do naught about that now.

Pained that she had upset him, Rose stood as well, watching him step away. "You can leave now. I can stay by myself."

He turned, "Rose—"

"Please." She saw his strained expression; his features betrayed immense stress. But he left.

Rose sunk heavily to her bed and clutched at the soft coverlets. Stupid Ed. She testily rubbed her cheek with the palm of her hand and lay down. Stupid Edward.

And yet, as she drifted back into an easier sleep, she found she could only be angry at herself.

* * *

"Maria, I'm fine!" Rose cried, pulling her arm away. She clutched it to her breast as if it was a delicacy feared of shattering. "Where is Ed, he needs to come."

The woman shook her head, "He's been ordered against it. Believe me, nothing will harm you. Winry and I will be with you; what's this fuss about?"

No. She needed Edward. She couldn't lie—she knew her eyes would belie the truth if even she spoke farces. If they prodded her, what could she say? She was near more terrified of the questions than she was the examining.

Maria quietly and briskly slid a white garment of coarse wool over Rose's naked shoulders. It hung about Rose in a dead weariness. The bottom hem reached her ankles unevenly. _No choice,_ it seemed to whisper through her skin, _no choice._

"Come along." Maria hooked her arm through Rose's, and held her elbow, as if she was hunched and sickly. If it wasn't for Maria's fierce grip, Rose would have struggled some. Dull walls fleeted past her at every step and he eyes wandered frantically from the faces of the passersby to the firm, unreadable expression borne by her companion. She felt restless and inadvertently quickened her pace.

The next thing she was aware of was that Maria had let go of her and great hands wound about her wrists, pulling her forward. It was then she realized that she _was_ struggling. Or rather, standing stubborn. Her heels were dragging against the smooth floor.

Her back met suddenly the mattress of her medical bed and in a daze she was pulled onto it. They raised her head and laid it on a hard pillow, brushing her hair away from her cheeks.

And then she felt their fingers slowly and cautiously unbinding the white tape that held her arm bandage wound round her. Her breath quickened in irrational panic. _No choice._

"Looks like a stained burn," one of the nurses murmured, touching a fingertip tentatively to Rose's cerulean, sored skin. "And yet it feels chilled."

Another face loomed above Rose, his eyes gazing at her flaw. He shook his head. "More than a burn." He dipped his finger into a small vial of something and tapped it on her bruised blistering arm. It hissed and screamed a little, bubbling. Rose's eyes were wide, and she choked back a frightened sob.

"We need to look at it while it's happening." The nurse said, more a command than a plain statement. The man overhead swiveled a lamp on its stand closer.

The woman peered at Rose, "Relax now, we're going to start it up again. Do you want to be numbed?"

Rose shook her head. She knew of the slack given to patients. She had heard of the herb inside it that would put them in some drugged drowse. She wanted to be aware when they examined her, even though she was horrified.

Another man walked forward. Wrapped around his palm was a smooth cloth, and painted on its surface was a circle—simple, no doubt for a harmless task, as like removing grit from a graze in a child's knee. Rose felt arms hold her legs down; her free arm as well. The medicinal alchemist slowly laid his hand on Rose's sore.

Pain lanced through Rose like she had just been shot, save for it lingered, the pain, and failed to die down. Her eyes were tearing, she could feel the droplets stream from her eyes even though her lids never blinked. Rose's mouth was agape, as if her voice yearned to scream, and yet, she remained silent. She was trembling harshly.

At once she felt people touching her arm, wetness, then a prick. They were taking blood. A sample of her skin, as it quavered, was cut away smoothly, so much so thin that not a crimson drop leaked. The pain did not cease. Rather, it heightened, and seemed to spread like a wildfire up her wrist, eating away at her nerves. Consuming with such greed, such gluttony.

The persons bending over her started and jerked back. They began shouting to one another over a sudden roar—a sudden white noise. Rose heard no more. There were damp towels pressing against her wound, as an attempt to smolder its flame.

She watched, in utter silence, the doctors' creased brows, the looks of rushed desperation and knew something had gone wrong. She knew then that these Central doctors—they would never find out the mystery of the cyan stones, of the death they held. It was something entirely alien from what they were accustomed, and she knew they would never find it. Not as she and Ed had.

In a sudden second, glass containers burst, and shards flew about the room in a dangerous, beautiful display. Light glittered blue upon their sides before their edges caught and stuck fast to something, or lay against the cold floor. Then the lamps shattered, sending a spray of sparks across the room. Rose lay, enthralled and bound by agony, watched the horrid beauty of fire and ice dancing.

Outside their room, when the doctors ordered that Maria and Winry evacuate, screams could be heard. The door opened and the hoarse fury could be slightly audible. Blue uniforms rushed past, frenzous.

"A body! A body has been found, and it's burning!"

"It's come back to life!"

"Get men on this, now!"

* * *

"My son!" A woman shrieked, flailing against the group of guards that held her body restrained from the blue, burning figure. "That's my son!"

The form looked at the woman, and blinked, his eyes icy jewels. Then, as if being pulled by a strong wind, he walked from where a circle of men enclosed him, walked calmly and measuringly to the edge of the ring. Firearms echoed through the air, but the form sucked in the bullets, drank them as a boy in the desert starved of water.

His eyes met those of the woman, his mother, and his blue eyes began to weep, even as he trudged helplessly forward. No one could touch him.

* * *

It seemed as if time had stopped.

* * *

Rose heard nothing, saw only the dark ceiling above her, felt her labored chest heave and the pain scour up her biceps now, and still eating. Where were the doctors? Where were their wet cloths? Where was anybody?

And then she _felt_ a presence, felt it send such a tremor through her that he back arched and her cheeks flushed. She squeezed her eyes shut.

A gentle hand caressed her eyelids so tenderly, like a lover, like an angel, a father, a child. Rose opened her eyes to witness herself gazing into two icy stones. A boy's face, warbling and fickle with blue light, seemed to pull itself into a smile. Then he lay down upon Rose's chest, and it felt as if her body was encased in cold, icy water. The boy was gone, but was still there.

His voice crooned, echoing, rebounding across her mind, _"Rawse. Rawse,"_ he whispered, "_ikleckt shvé hï gursa fau you. Rawse . . . Ikleckt sve do so love you." _His words melted. _"I love you. Rawse. You are mine. I love you. You are mine."_

* * *

The body of the boy lay in the middle of the circle as if it never had been touched by dark flame, or ever had been disturbed. His face was blanched, pale, and his eyes were dark, unseeing.

The mother finally pushed her way through and collapsed at her son's side. Her head rose then, and she fell back on her bottom, scrambling away from the boy.

"He is not him anymore. This is not my son." She muttered and then began wailing in senile delirium. "How is he not my boy?!"

The body had dark skin, dusky, far unlike his mother's fair complexion. His dark brown hair hung in thick, curly richness, and his heavy eyelashes framed, though dark in death, violet eyes.

* * *

So there you have it, peeps. Now I shall go and serenade some window with my lute-harp and leave you all in peace. Adieu. Goodbye. Farewell. Sayonara. Buh-bye, fair readers.

(stuffs cake into your hands) Eat it and be merry!!!


End file.
